In the Air (The City Book 1) - By Crystal Serowka Page 0,23

contemplating my words. "Someone as in an ex-boyfriend?"

"I don't want to get into that. All I'm saying, is I've steered clear of guys like you for a long time now."

"Guys like me?" Samson's eyebrows squinted together. "Are you basically calling me an asshole?" His dimples deepened, revealing a full smile.

"Yes," I gestured to him, "but then you give your heart-stopping smile and it's all forgotten."

"You think my smile is heart-stopping?"

My palm hit my forehead, and I heard Samson laugh loudly.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll try and not be such an asshole," he said genuinely.

"Good." I returned the smile.

"You didn't answer my question though."

I looked up at Samson, confused. "What?"

"You really think my smile is heart-stopping?" His smile reached ear to ear.

Just as I was about to answer, Max returned with a carafe full of coffee and Samson's blueberry scone. Once we were both sure we wouldn't need anything else, Max walked away from the table, leaving Samson and I alone.

"More coffee?"

I nodded and Samson began pouring the heavenly liquid into my empty mug.

"Sugar?" His blue eyes locked into mine.

"Yes, dear?" I jokingly asked and began laughing. Samson joined in and we must have laughed for a good two minutes.

"Think we can be friends, Natalia?" Samson took a bite from his scone, making my mouth water. I longed for the sweet, carb-filled pastry, but knew it would be a mistake.

"I guess so," I said sarcastically.

"Being friends and all, we should learn more about each other. Where did you grow up?"

I wanted to open up to Samson, but I was still a bit wary. How much should I tell him? Would he use it against me someday? I decided to give him just the basics for now.

"I grew up in Illinois. I've been dancing for about fifteen years. What about you? You don't seem like the typical ballerino."

His right cheek quirked up, revealing his endearing smile. "My dad is a cardiologist at a hospital in Connecticut. I was supposed to follow in his footsteps and go to medical school, but I've always wanted to be a dancer. I haven't been dancing as long as you have, though."

"You mean to tell me that you're that good and you haven't been doing it for long?" My eyebrows furrowed together. I had always been so jealous of the dancers who easily picked up on difficult techniques.

"So, you think I'm good?" His crooked smile turned into a full-on one, exposing a set of perfect white teeth.

"I think you've heard that enough times to know you're good. One more compliment and your head will explode."

His laugh filled the cafe. It felt good sitting here and joking with Samson. I was happy I had convinced myself to give him a chance.

"Do you have any siblings?" I had a feeling he didn't. Being an only child, it was easy to spot another.

"No. My mom always wanted a daughter, but my dad was against having anymore after I was born. Since he got his wish by having a son, the conversation was over, though, now that I'm a dancer, I'm sure he wishes he would have had more kids." Samson looked down at his lap, dejected.

"What about your mom? How does she feel about your dancing?" I didn't want to pry, but my curiosity got the better of me. I felt like I could relate to Samson. When he spoke about his dad, I sensed that the pressure put on him was immense.

"My mom is the only person who supports what I do. She's amazing." Samson's face lit-up when he talked about his mother. I could tell they were close. "What about you? Are your parents supportive?" Samson asked and I immediately clammed up.

When asked about my parents, I still didn't know how to respond. Parent. It was no longer plural. "It's just me and my mom," I responded quickly. "She's actually my dance teacher." Now I was the one who looked dejected.

"I don't want to be nosey or anything, and you don't have to tell me, but where is your dad?"

There it was. The question that made me sick to my stomach.

"My dad," I paused, "he died last year."

Samson's eyes met mine. I was expecting him to say the usual, "I'm sorry," or worse, "I know how you feel." After my father's funeral, I counted fifteen people who said that to me. I wanted to scream at them, tell them they had no idea how I felt because loss can't be compared. Samson didn't say either of those things.

"I can't